Use Somebody
by madrigals
Summary: Off in the night while you live it up, I'm off to sleep. Waging wars to shake the poet and the beat. I hope it's gonna make you notice someone like me. Carter/OFC, AU seasons 10-15, sequel to THE DIFFERENCE & KEEP BREATHING
1. freefall

Welcome to the sequel to The Difference and Keep Breathing, entitled "Use Somebody." This is the third and probably final part to Carter and Gracie's story, which will span all the way to the series finale. As always, thank you for your hits and reviews; I hope they'll continue with this story as well. Updates are when possible; here's the first chapter for now. If you enjoy, please review.

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_It takes a night to make it dawn. And it takes a day to make you yawn, brother. And it takes some old to make you young, it takes some cold to know the sun. It takes the one to have the other. And it takes no time to fall in love, but it takes you years to know what love is. It takes some fears to make you trust, it takes those tears to make it rust. It takes the dust to have it polished.  
— __'Life Is Wonderful', Jason Mraz_

**FREEFALL  
Thanksgiving Day 2003**

"Why are you doing this to him, Gracie?"

It was easy to wonder what he was doing, thousands of miles away in the Congo, as she rushed around the apartment she shared with her brother on a clear Thanksgiving day. Gracie was exhausted — she had worked double overtime the day before and had returned home with the intention of having the holiday off. That hope was dashed when she was paged with a 911 back to County.

She spat toothpaste into the bathroom sink as she retorted with annoyance, "_I'm_ doing this? He did this to himself! And don't you dare tell me otherwise!"

"The man _proposes_ to you, asks you to be with him while he saves lives, and you ignore him!" Malucci leaned against the doorframe, his dissatisfaction with his little sister's actions weighing heavy on his features. "This is all you, sweetheart."

"Well, I'm not a perfect person."

"You're still wearing his ring, for God's sake."

Gracie paused, her hand moving to absently touch the diamond ring she had strung on a chain around her neck. It wasn't on a finger, but he had a damn point. And she hated that. After a good moment, she went about her business, throwing her toothbrush into a cup by the sink as she snapped, "You know what, Dave? How about _you_ stop trying to involve yourself in _my_ love life and—"

"I wasn't aware this was about love lives."

Gracie glared at him as he blocked her from trying to exit the bathroom. "I hate you."

"Do you really have to go in today?"

She pushed past him, bustling down the hallway to collect her things. "They've got a mass casualty incident, they need every hand they can get right now," she heard herself replying, although her mind was elsewhere. "Something about a helicopter in the ambulance bay."

"Of course," Malucci grumbled sarcastically to himself. "Where else?"

"I'll be back in time for Thanksgiving pizza."

"No, you won't. You'll be sucked into the ER vortex."

All she could do was glare at him as she threw on her coat and left.

In fact, it was more than easy to daydream about him as she took the El into work. Was he thinking about her? Was he saving a child with HIV from a lung infection? Was he sweating in the hot African sun, wondering when the next transport of supplies would come? Was he dead? Did he hate her? Was he loving someone else?

It was easy to think about these things, because she faced them every night. It was harder when the guilt set in. The anguish, the inappropriate pain she had no right to feel. She knew she didn't. That didn't make her feel any better about it.

There were always regrets. Just like how history was unchangeable.

Forgetting was the only way to manage. Mass casualty incidents, like the one she was faced with as soon as she stepped foot on County property, were particularly helpful. She was on her feet from the word go, working with Neela, a med student, on triaging victims. As long as she was in the moment, she didn't have to think about the things she had been for the past six months.

Like the reasons why.

"Is it over?" Neela asked her breathlessly when all was said and done.

Gracie snapped off a pair of latex gloves and glanced around. Firefighters were running around the ambulance bay, working on the remains of the helicopter. Romano was nowhere to be found. Everyone linked to the incident had been triaged, but that left multiple criticals and a neverending list of minors to be dispo'd. "It never is," Gracie replied absently, tossing the gloves into a nearby trash can, just as two men from transport carried a body bag past.

"Why do they call you Africa?"

"What?" She turned her head, almost having not heard the question. Neela repeated herself, watching Gracie with an innocent expectance.

"I mean, I know you have an accent, but—"

"That's all you need to know," Gracie interrupted dismissively.

"Oh... alright."

Gracie excused herself, walking briskly past admit, storming through a nondescript door, the action of which creating a rather loud smacking sound as her hands slapped against the wood. Neela blinked and looked at Frank.

"Did I say something wrong?"

----


	2. touch and go

I feel the need to clarify that there will be no involvement of Kem in this story. Carry on.

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**TOUCH AND GO  
December 2003**

"Did you hear?"

Gracie scowled. Of course she had. She was tired of the question — it presumed ignorance, or incompetence, or something of the sort. That everyone knew her better than herself. She was tired of being known. "Yes," she answered sharply, overlooking her sedated, disheveled female patient, who still happened to be clothed in full-on raver gear that was stained with alcohol, mascara and blood. "And I really wish everyone would stop asking me that."

Malik gave her a pointed look as he hooked up another bag of hypertonic saline for their girl, who had been passed out since being sedated upon ER admission at three in the morning. She wore eyeliner and mascara all over her cheeks, little indentations on her arms and forehead, oozing abrasions that suggested a serious meeting with pavement. Gracie had already confirmed an MDMA toxicity, which explained the screaming agitation and why exactly it looked like her patient had been involved in a brawl in the first place. Her biggest concern now was waiting on CT to rule out head trauma, but it was nearly eight in the morning and she was supposed to have been off duty an hour ago.

"The man is physically _in the building_," Malik pointed out, his tone bordering heavily on nagging.

"Would you like to make any more obvious statements?"

"Other than maybe you should talk to him before the next shift you two work together ends up turning you into little miss bitch stomp here?"

"Bitch stomp?"

But the voice that queried those prior words was not Gracie's. In fact, it was far more capable of sending a shiver down her spine — enough to bring her to a hesitant pause with the realization that she wasn't dreaming. Oh, how she wished she was. Denial was only good for so long.

Malik grinned at the man standing behind her. "Carter, good to see ya, man!"

She couldn't turn around. No. Just couldn't. Where was her masochism? Why couldn't she power through this, say hello, cry about it later? Through the noise in her head, she briefly caught wind of Malik exchanging pleasantries, then saying very pointedly, "I'll let you two catch up."

And leaving.

Leaving her alone with _him_.

What shocked her the most was the fact that he didn't jump right to the point... didn't flat out demand answers, or drag her headfirst into the pit of sorrow she had begun to feel so comfortable in. No, instead, he chuckled uncertainly, awkwardly scratched the back of his head, then motioned to her unconscious patient and said, "So, what's her story?"

Gracie was so baffled, her response came out in a breath. "Status post-bitch stomping," she heard herself say, using the term she and Malik had cheerfully been using. "Came in screaming and carrying on, I had to sedate her."

"I still don't get it."

"Another girl stomped on her with the spiky end of her high heel, then beat her upside her head with it. Both of them were trippin' on MDMA — Luka got the other one."

Carter nodded sagely, and Gracie was so confused about this entire scenario that she found herself taking a step back and glancing him over. He had a beard, scraggly and overgrown. He knew how she hated them. But that wasn't the reason he looked different. No, this change was inward. He was world-weary and mature. Like he had finally seen too many horrible things in his lifetime.

"Why are you here?" The words escaped her lips breathlessly.

"Had a meeting to confirm I'm back on the schedule this week."

Gracie fiddled with the stethoscope looped around her neck. She stared down at her feet, and his gaze was hot on the hollow of her throat. She immediately knew why, and her acknowledgement of such was met with the burning flush of her cheeks. "So... you're back?" She heard herself say.

He pursed his lips. "Yeah. I have some things to settle with the estate."

"But you're back."

Silence.

"Yes."

Gracie wanted nothing more than to escape at this point. But the feeling was overwhelming as soon as he said certainly, "It's really good to see you."

She barely choked out a reply before turning on one heel and walking away.

She did not look back.

She would wonder later if he expected his return from Africa to be met with such fanfare. Part of her believed he did. The other hoped for the surprise.

Clocking out with overtime had never felt so relieving.

----


	3. get carter

_Music starts playing like the end of a sad movie. It's the kind of ending you don't really wanna see. 'Cause it's tragedy and it'll only bring you down. Now I don't know what to be without you around. And we know it's never simple, never easy. Never a clean break, no one here to save me. You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand. And I can't breathe without you, but I have to.  
— __'Breathe', Taylor Swift ft. Colbie Caillat_

**GET CARTER  
January 2004**

There are a lot of things to say about turning another year older.

But none of them were things that Gracie was willing to actively discuss. The fact that this was something people had come to expect from her only made it worse. If anyone had caught on to the motives behind the actions, perhaps this birthday might have played out differently. Perhaps a lot of things would have.

She had fallen back into her routine night shifts since his return. Gossip surged, with everyone on staff at least being aware of Gracie's avoidance and Carter's air of defeat. That was the reason she had wound up back at County in the first place — or rather, never really even left. They were short-staffed that day, and some meddler had followed a bright idea. Gracie had clocked back in with a grumble to her tone. _Stick to minors,_ she told herself. _Cherry-pick your cases. Anything that doesn't involve him._ A cup of tea and the promise of a nap in the on-call room later cheered her, and off she went to her first patient of the day shift.

It would be one she'd follow for the rest of the morning.

"Mona," Gracie smiled as she entered Exam One, announcing her presence to the forty-nine year old woman perched in a gown atop a gurney. "My name's Gracie, I'm a nurse practitioner. I heard you fainted, on the El, is that correct?"

"Yes," the woman replied matter-of-factly, her hands folded very delicately in her lap. "But I'm fine, really... they shouldn't have even called an ambulance..."

Gracie glanced up from scribbling on the chart in her hands. There was something so familiar about this case. She couldn't put a finger on it. "Well, if they hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to check you over myself," she retorted cheekily, "and then where would we be?"

"Better off, I'll tell you."

She laughed and set Mona's chart down, taking off her stethoscope and slipping the buds in her ears as she approached the woman. "Take a deep breath for me," she coaxed as she placed the diaphragm in a prime location to listen to the lungs. That was her first clue. As the woman inhaled, Gracie's brows shot straight up in the air as she listened to the tell-tale sound of wheezing. She was suddenly very grateful that she was standing behind her patient rather than in front of.

The common sense that had been instilled in her as a medical professional was what drove her to ask all the typical questions, even though it was this early in her exam that instinct began to kick into gear. "Have you been having any shortness of breath, chest pain?" Gracie asked casually as she removed the stethoscope and scribbled a note down.

"No... a little cough, maybe, that I can't seem to kick. I've been feeling a bit run down lately, but I just chalked it up to a cold."

"Weight loss, headaches, nausea, loss of appetite?"

"Yes, a bit."

Gracie checked the vitals that Chuny had scribbled down at intake. Everything was slightly elevated, not to mention the mild yellowing of the skin she noticed in Mona's features. She draped the stethoscope around her neck and proceeded to gently check her patient's lymph nodes. They were swollen.

"Okay, Mona," Gracie expelled a sigh with as much of a cheerful tone as she could muster, "I know how desperately you'd like to get out of here, but I need to run some blood work and get you a chest x-ray first. I'm also going to have Chuny come back in and start an IV—"

"An IV?"

"No big deal, I just want to give you some saline, see if re-hydrating you doesn't help you feel a bit better. Alright?"

"Alright; is there a phone I can use? I need to call my husband, I'm in town from Detroit for a work conference... I was just headed back to my hotel..."

Gracie pursed her lips and smiled. "You're welcome to use the phone by the bed. I'll be back later."

She barely heard the woman's reply as she left the room and bustled back to admit, where she found Chuny standing next to a still-bearded Carter.

"Chuny, can we get Mrs. Hershlag in Exam One hooked up to a monitor and some saline?" Gracie was scribbling out labs frantically before Chuny could speak.

"You want labs?"

"Yeah; CBC, UA, glucose, cardiac enzymes and LFT's — and she needs to get up for a chest x-ray, I don't care if you have to proposition radiology with sex to get it to happen." Gracie handed over the chart, trying to focus on Chuny's amused smirk rather than Carter's not-too-subtle stare. "Thank you."

"No problem..." Chuny sing-songed as she walked away.

She was so distracted with the moment that she almost didn't hear Carter ask an innocent question. "LFT's for syncope?"

Gracie's head snapped in his direction. She was amazed when she managed a coherent answer. "She's jaundiced."

His mouth formed an 'oh,' even though he remained silent. He watched as she scribbled a new status next to her patient on the dry-erase board. The silence was painfully palpable, and grew even more so when his next words flew out of his mouth without his considering the repercussions. "Why do you hate your birthday so much?"

She froze at the board, hand in mid-air. It was a reasonable question. She was thirty-two years old, and for fifteen years had been purposely ignoring the celebration of this day, without much of an explanation to anyone.

But Gracie, with all of her stubborn platitudes, smiled sadly at him and walked away without an answer. It was what he'd expected, anyway.

It was a couple hours later before the tests came back.

Gracie found herself standing in the hall outside Exam One, gripping the sheet of paper with the lab results as she tried to reconcile professionalism with emotion. Everything was outrageously abnormal. Instinct really had proven truthful in this case, as each result was suggestive of the one thing that had been screaming in her head this whole time. Her feet moved on autopilot towards admit, where she immediately began rummaging around in search of the one thing that would prove conclusive. "Frank, is x-ray back on the woman in Exam One?"

"Yeah, should be."

She found the file shortly after that, pulled out the film and held it up to the light. Even if she was expecting it, her heart still stopped. "Oh, God."

"Bad news?"

Frank was interrupted by the sound of Chuny yelling down the hall, "Africa, your syncope is crashing!"

Gracie swore loudly and was on her feet in a second, running into Exam One just in time to see Carter, Chuny and Sam, a new RN, pulling out the crash cart. "Newly diagnosed breast cancer," Gracie told Carter breathlessly, holding up the film. "Just got the labs back. She's metastasized."

"Drop them and help your patient," Carter stated firmly as he opened a laryngoscope and prepared to intubate. He slid the scope in and passed the tube.

A growing feeling was swelling in her gut, but it was pushed aside the second a familiar sound began to emanate from the monitors. "V-tach," Sam remarked as Gracie tugged on a pair of latex gloves. "No pulse."

"Starting compressions," Gracie replied, biting her bottom lip as she climbed on a stool and began to deliver firm compressions to her patient's now-naked chest, according to ACLS protocol. Carter connected the ambu-bag to the tube just in time to pass it off to Chuny and accept the defibrillator paddles.

"Charge to 360," Carter demanded.

"Charging."

"Push 0.5 mg of epi, and clear."

Gracie lifted her hands away from her patient's body, just as Sam began drawing the epi and Carter pressed the paddles to Mona's chest. "Clear." The woman jolted with the electrical current, but there was no change.

"Still v-tach. Resuming compressions."

"Amiodarone, 300 mg IV push and 1.5 of lido, please and charge again—"

"Charging."

Gracie once again stopped compressions and cleared the body. "Clear," Carter called as he shocked Mrs. Hershlag again. There was a pause.

The rhythm changed. "Normal sinus," Sam pointed out. "Got a pulse."

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Everyone except for Gracie, who was finding it difficult to lessen her slight trembling.

"Get a vent in here," Carter requested of the nurses, scribbling out some notes on the chart as well as a request for new labs. Then he turned his attention to Gracie. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, handing him the x-ray. He held the film up to the light, and sighed. The widespread mass was more than visible. "LFT's are off the charts," she heard herself saying, her eyes focused on her patient in bed. "It's spread to the liver, if not the lungs as well—"

"Oncology's gonna want a biopsy. You don't know it's malignant."

"It's malignant," Gracie replied immediately, her tone sharp.

"Still, this woman needs a CT scan, she needs—"

"This woman is _dying_, John," Gracie snapped, and she zeroed in on him as if to prove a point. "She's Stage IV _dead_, that's how dead she is. She's not going to leave this hospital!"

Silence. Carter said nothing, then cleared his throat and requested of Chuny, who had passed off bagging to Sam, "Add CA 15-3 to there, would you?"

"You got it."

"Maybe you should call the family, then," Carter told Gracie gently.

She promptly turned on one heel and spat as she left the room, "Great, page me when she codes again."

Thirty minutes passed before he found her tucked away in the lounge, huddled in a corner with a landline receiver pressed to her ear. He nonchalantly busied himself with his locker, but it was obvious that he was eavesdropping.

"Mr. Hershlag, I know this seems sudden, but—" A pause. "Sometimes findings like this are missed altogether. It's hard to say. Yes, I know. All I can give you right now are the facts, and that is due to the cancer cells spreading, your wife has gone into lung failure, and her liver is close behind. It's really of great import that you and your family get here as soon as possible."

She glanced towards Carter, but her conversation was focused still. "She is on life support right now, yes. I understand. You can be here in five hours? Alright, we'll expect her. Yes, County General Hospital. Just ask for Gracie at the front desk. We'll see you soon."

With that, she hung up, and her awareness of his presence was more than obvious. She spoke immediately, and it seemed to be more out of nervousness than desire to. "Husband's about to pull their seven-year-old daughter out of school and drive all the way down here," Gracie said softly, fiddling with the receive before hanging it up on the base. Carter was silent, watchful. "Their oldest goes to Notre Dame, she should be here in about three hours if she catches a plane in time."

He wasn't sure what to say. But she sure was.

"I hate my birthday," Gracie began quietly, fixating her eyes on the floor, "because my mother passed on it." Silence. Carter looked like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. "I was seventeen, no father around. Dave had taken off about a year earlier. She was forty-nine, just like Mona Hershlag. She was Stage IV, spread to the lungs and liver, just like her."

Her anxious nature in his presence had been pushed aside to embrace a cool, calm upset. She actually laughed, and he could see the film of tears in her eyes. "The universe is funny, you know?" Gracie remarked. "On all days..."

She glanced up at him. "There is nothing to celebrate without her," she stated firmly, her voice cracking around the edges.

What pained him the most was to watch her cry and know he couldn't hold her. To stand there, vacillating, mouth slightly agape, hands itching for her and knowing this was not how it was supposed to be. This was not how it should have been. He was angry. For a lot of reasons. But to love her was to accept that she was someone he'd never get over. Even if she couldn't do the same.

But what did he know?

Susan being pregnant, the dedication of Romano's gay healthcare center, metastatic breast cancer... what a birthday. Carter turned around and left the room without a word, leaving Gracie to sink deeper into the couch as she sobbed into the palm of her hand. It would take some hours for her newly-escalated grief to dissipate, just in time for her to splash her face with water and escort Mona Hershlag's eighteen-year-old daughter, fresh off the plane, in to see her mom.

Rudy Hershlag and their youngest child arrived a few hours later, shortly after the code team had brought Mona back from another round of v-tach. It was hard not to feel the pain as the husband signed a DNR, and the woman Gracie had first seen upright and talking was disconnected from life-supporting machines.

Sorrow and anguish hung heavy in the air as Gracie pronounced her patient. The sound of crying rang in her ears even as she went home.

----


	4. impulse control

**IMPULSE CONTROL  
February 2004**

She had no idea why she agreed to this.

Was it admitting defeat? That she was truly powerless to him and his charms? Gracie didn't know. Was it admitting fault? Wrongness? Maybe, but she still wasn't sure if she wanted to. She had no choice now. There was no turning back. She had walked through the door of a restaurant near County, and he had most certainly spotted her — winter coat over her black, short-sleeved, thin cotton button-up shirt, a pair of dark blue denim jeans trailing down to meet presentable black leather heels. He sat in a booth in a far corner. Gracie expelled a breath as he waved her over.

He was clean-shaven and smoking. She sat down without a word, and reached out for the half-smoked butt. Carter blinked. A moment passed. "Am I your once-a-year?" He finally asked, sounding almost amused as he flicked ashes into a tray.

"Tonight, you are."

"Fair enough."

Carter handed over the cigarette, and she placed the filter between her lips, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out from her nose. She flicked a bit of ash and handed the butt back to him. There was just enough in the time he took it back for the anxiety to return, the regret, the _why am I here?_ And she sat very simply, hands folded in her lap, ignorant of the heat her coat was creating.

"You gonna take your coat off?"

"I don't know," she heard herself saying.

They were interrupted by a young waitress, come to accept their orders. He requested coffee, while she asked for a shot of tequila. "Should you really be drinking?" Carter ventured, but after the look she gave him as their waitress left, he didn't argue any more. It was miracle enough that she was there.

Silence followed. Neither knew what to say. For him, this almost seemed premeditated. Carter was very aware of how Gracie worked, and right now, he was dead on with thinking that the less he pressed, the better. For her, on the other hand... no matter how much that might be true, Gracie was still a woman, with a woman's feelings, and she couldn't help but feel anxiety at the idea that he wasn't saying anything at all. Their drinks came, and he sipped his coffee as she solemnly bit into a lime wedge and pounded down her tequila shot.

And just as she set down the shot glass, she remarked, "You're different."

"Different?"

"More... mature."

He paused and took another drag off his cigarette, allowing her to steal the butt and take a drag of her own as he exhaled smoke. "It changes you."

"The Congo?"

"Among other things."

"I wasn't aware you needed to be changed."

Her words drastically altered the mood. He took the cigarette back and stubbed it out in the ashtray, exhaled a weary sigh and eyed her carefully. "I bought a townhouse," he said.

"Oh?"

"You should come take a look."

Gracie scrutinized him. It took a moment for her to speak. "Is _that_ what this is? You're horny?"

He was quick to interrupt. "No—"

"You wanted an easy fuck."

"Nothing about you is easy, believe me," Carter quickly retorted, and his tone was nothing to trifle with. It suggested someone who no longer had the desire to play games, who no longer wanted to waste time. Someone world-weary.

It was then, for the first time, that she realized he had shaved his beard.

Speechless, Gracie glanced down, licked her lips, and toyed with the skin of the lime wedge. "You still wear the ring," Carter plunged forward.

She did not move. Did not look at him. Did not say anything.

"I _miss_ you, Gracie," Carter stated doggedly.

Silence.

After a moment, he said, "Maybe I _did_ change. But it was for the better." A pause, and he laughed with what seemed to be hinting of disbelief. "I saw things... that... are once-in-a-lifetime, that I _never_ would have seen sitting in Gamma's house, being looked after by hired staff. I saw... people starving," his tone was bordering on passionate, "mothers saving their HIV meds for their kids because there weren't enough to go around... little boys, _dying_, because they got caught in guerilla crossfire." He gently touched her hand, and it was the first time she actually looked at him. "I am a better man for it."

"Great," Gracie's voice cracked with whispered disuse. "I'm glad for you."

"More than that," Carter insisted, "it reinforced what I already knew before."

"And what's that?"

"That I need you."

Gracie laughed darkly. "I need you," Carter repeated, trying to catch her eye line as she chuckled. There was that dogged certainty. It was only when she realized just how serious he was that she grew quiet and looked away.

His hand was still on top of hers.

----


	5. abby normal

**ABBY NORMAL  
April 2004**

Days gave way to weeks. Weeks gave way to months. And breathing became a little easier. One evening rendezvous turned into weekly dates. Not for the purpose of rekindling a romance, but simply for the purpose of remembering what it was like when life was easier. Not that it truly ever was.

She really didn't understand why he had asked her to come. There was no explanation other than a subtle pleading, and Gracie never could resist when he pulled such tactics. Even after everything that had happened. Which is why she found herself at the Carter family estate one early afternoon, dressed presentably in a pair of heels, neatly ironed black slacks, and a white blouse. His hand placed lightly on the small of her back as he led her into a conference room, where his father sat with a number of other board members serving the Carter Foundation.

"Hello everyone," Carter greeted them all with a newfound air of authority, one that Gracie fought hard to stifle surprise at, "this is Gracie Abrahams, she's going to be sitting in."

Gracie pursed her lips, offering a restrained smile as several stares followed her. Carter pulled out a chair next to the head of the table, and she sat cautiously as he continued speaking. "I apologize," he began, "I don't know all of your names. And introductions would take all day, so..." He sat in his own chair. "First item on the agenda: Northwestern has agreed to take over the management of the house and the property for use as an institute of advanced health studies."

Her heart seemed to stop as her eyes swept over several shocked and outraged board members. His father spoke first. "You're selling Mother's house?"

Carter stared pointedly at his father. "Donating it."

Silence. "It will serve as a conference center for various public health issues," Carter continued, "and housing for visiting scholars and experts on Foundation fellowships."

What the hell was going on? It was clear that nobody had expected this, least of all Gracie. Was this why he had wanted her to attend? His father glared at Gracie, as if he assumed that she'd had something to do with this. Gracie shrugged helplessly, as if to suggest that she'd had no inkling.

"I don't understand," a nameless board member interrupted.

"Which part?" Carter offered.

"This foundation was expressly created by your grandfather to support arts and cultural institutions."

"And that's what we've been doing for almost fifty years!" A female board member piped up. Silence. The look on Carter's face was not one to be trifled with.

"Well," he began, "time for a change then."

"You're going to unilaterally overturn the legacy that your grandparents left behind?"

Gracie felt breathless. "Not overturning anything," Carter interrupted, "I'm just simply redirecting some resources into other worthy causes."

"What gives you the right?"

Silence. Her eyes flickered around the table and back to Carter. She had never seen such a look on him before. And suddenly, it all made sense. _This_ was what he wanted her to see. This new sense of purpose. "My grandmother's will gives me the right," Carter replied certainly. "But if you don't believe in what I'm doing here... maybe it's time you stepped aside. Next..."

Even moving on to other topics on the agenda wouldn't usher the feeling of shock and awe out of the room.

He met her later, shortly after the meeting, out in the courtyard.

Gracie listened to his approach from behind, her fingertips idly touching the petal of a pink rose. He paused behind her, but she did not turn around.

"What do you think?" She finally heard him ask.

"I think you're about to have a mutiny on your hands."

Carter reached out, carefully breaking off the stem of the rose she'd touched and handing it to her. Gracie licked her lips without expression. It wasn't quite fully bloomed, offering the sight of perfect petals unfurling delicately. She accepted the offering with careful fingertips. He said nothing.

Gracie brushed the flower against her nose, inhaling the sweet smell and watching him all the while. "I don't understand you," she offered.

"I'm what I should have been all along."

"But did it need to happen this way?"

He was quiet. She had never seen him so fixated, so certain.

And yet he said nothing more on the subject.

"There's a guy playing at that blues club tonight," Carter began slowly, reaching out and tucking a strand of neatly flat-ironed hair behind her ear. "Come with me."

These days, it was getting harder and harder to say no to him.

----


	6. midnight

Hello, beautiful people. This chapter is NC-17... I don't know if I can stress that enough. Thank you for all of your wonderful hits and favorites and reviews. It means the world. Please enjoy!

* * *

**MIDNIGHT  
May 2004**

She really didn't plan this.

And really, it started out like a dream. A hallucination at best.

The feel of heated skin and a tongue trailing slowly across the dip in her collarbone dragged her firmly back into the moment.

Midnight introduced familiar sensations. Her calves hitting expensive cotton sheets as he backed her slowly into his mattress. Capable hands dragging across her bare stomach, a touch that brought her to pull his face roughly down to hers, devouring his kiss like it was the closest thing to sustenance she'd had in a year. Clothes discarded to the embrace of the floor, his lips trailing searing, open-mouthed kisses across her skin. From her collarbone to her chest, drawing a nipple between his lips and nibbling at the fragile skin. Fingertips pressing decisively into the flesh of her thighs.

The Congo changed a lot of things, she had decided, as his hand trailed painstakingly slow up to the warmth of her sensitive core, pressing a thumb against her clit and eliciting a hungry moan. This wasn't one of them.

She gently scratched her fingernails down his chest as he entered her, thrusting firmly yet slowly, as if wanting to prolong this moment. This was lust, this was pent-up anger and frustration — all evidenced by the way they were nothing less than rough with one another. But this was also something remembered, something beautiful and pure. This was a recollection of how it used to be.

She was completely unaware of the world around her as he picked up his pace. It was as if every sense was on fire, her head tipped back as ragged breaths escaped her lips, his teeth grazing sensuously across her neck. An out of body experience. His breathless groans filled her ears, mingling with soft, feminine gasps that had be emitting from her mouth... but it sounded so foreign.

This was something that had not happened for a very long time.

Her climax came five seconds after his, and she came perfectly unglued as he rode out his release. She trembled violently beneath him as he kissed her fiercely, tongue tangling with hers, desperate moans filling the room as a beautiful feeling slowly dissipated. Leaving nothing but salty skin and heat and racing heartbeats.

Exhausted, they collapsed and let it be.

But she would leave at three in the morning, cautiously collecting clothing so as not to wake the sleeping body in the expensive mahogany bed. She left his townhouse with a quiet click of the door behind her, making her way out onto Chicago streets that were never truly asleep, knowing that she wore the epitome of sex hair and not really caring. She would stop at a gas station two blocks over and purchase a pack of cigarettes, sitting on the stoop of the brightly lit store in her two inch heels and shiny blue dress and messy sex hair as she smoked her way through the entire pack, a troubled expression on her face.

Here was reality. A few hours too late.

----


	7. drive

_"The telephone has put on a bathrobe, complaining that my constant staring makes it feel naked, And I find myself out in the street interrogating raindrops as to your whereabouts. This one particular raindrop keeps being very evasive answering in metaphors, (I may have to get rough). Happiness stumbles along smelling of Mad Dog and mumbo sauce, wearing cheap sneakers with holes the size of a headache and a shirt that reads like a menu of stains. I've begun bottling my tears, to serve as holy water, and all the vowels of my vocabulary are now lookouts on my windowsill, waiting to trumpet your return."  
— __'48 Hours After You Left', DJ Renegade_

**DRIVE  
May 2004**

"Gracie, you've done some really stupid things, but this takes the cake."

Her eyes fluttered closed, weary. She was tired of this. Tired of the questions, the stares, the expectations. She just wanted the world to stop, if only for a moment. She just wanted to be able to breathe without the overwhelming burden of life — its demands, its expectations. Not from others, but from herself.

"Dave."

"I'm _serious_, Gracie, I just don't understand how you can—"

"How I can what?"

"Just leave like this."

It's hard to say what drove her to such a decision. What moment in time exactly changed the playing field. She recalled sitting on a curb in a shiny blue dress and thinking this was not her life. That fear and complication had run her world for too long. It was a rash decision, but in the moment, it felt all too smart. The kind of thing once calls were made, there was no going back.

She was silent, her head hung low, hands clasped between her knees as they sat and waited. Home. She was going home. All the time she had spent in Chicago couldn't produce that feeling. It wasn't the same connotation.

"I just got you back, Gracie," Dave whispered helplessly.

His words drew her glance. What response could she give? All the years she had lived without her older brother filtered through her head, cloudy visages of chaos and poor luck. He had been the one to leave, but she couldn't bring herself to respond with bitterness. She was giving him the same thing. Maybe now he'd see what it was like.

Still, she loved him too much.

Gracie reached out and gently cradled her brother's cheek, smoothing her thumb across the stubble. "I have to," she whispered, barely audible.

But he knew.

There was the slightest sheen in his eyes as her boarding call was sounded, although no tears fell. Both stood, and she clung to his tight embrace for several long minutes. This wasn't his fault, but she had a feeling he knew that, too.

One long, lingering kiss pressed to the top of her head, and she pulled away, grabbing her carry-on and hurrying past the security checkpoint before something could make her stay. It was the one last glance over her shoulder before she ran to her gate that did him in.

Was anyone to blame?

----


	8. here and there

Thanks to all my readers/reviewers. Just a note - I understand that sometimes the flow of these stories may be a bit confusing. It's intended to be that way. Every chapter is supposed to be viewed as "glimpses", much like what we might see if Gracie had been a real character on the show. There are no major life-or-death, multi-episode arcs. Rather, there is one much vaguer storyline, that builds gradually and spans years. Sometimes, that means some chapters are shorter than others. We're meant to guess what's happening "off camera." I hope that makes sense.

* * *

**HERE AND THERE  
February 2005**

**Johannesburg, South Africa**

Running away.

He'd known just what it was the instant her departure became known. It didn't make it make sense. It didn't make it easier. In fact, it made it more painful. After everything... after reconciliation, after making love... she left.

And he let her go.

Carter wasn't sure why at the time. He took the fact hard, despite the knowledge that there was something he could do about it. It didn't matter. He fell off the wagon with his sorrow, showing up drunk at the hospital and generally struggling to move on. He accepted his escaped butterfly with grudging. It was contradictory, but that was how he felt. It didn't mean he had to like it.

But months passed, and days blurred together, and somewhere along the way, he managed to make himself appear presentable. Breathing without her was still difficult. Knowing parts of her, of _them_, were scattered all over Chicago made the feeling worse. But somehow, he managed to get along. Somehow.

So how he ended up here is hard to explain.

Footsteps echoed down an uncarpeted hallway, cement poorly covered by a chipped and fading paint job. It was the only sound in an atmosphere of silence. And when they came upon a very particular door, they lingered uncertainly. Hovered, without so much as a knock. Breathless anxiety was the only thing that came to mind.

What the hell did he think he was doing?

It had been easy enough to pretend his life was okay, until one day everything inside him just snapped. And suddenly nothing was okay without her. He'd harassed Dave until he came up with fruitful information, and suddenly, after one hell of a long plane ride to Africa for very different reasons than the last time... he was here. In front of her door. He felt like throwing up.

His knuckles on the door panel were barely audible. He wasn't sure they were even heard, until the sound of the chain unlocking became obvious. He thought of all the things he had wanted to say as that barrier gently opened.

They all went flying out of his head as Gracie came into view, bearing a watermelon-sized belly.

Wide-eyed panic overtook her. Carter felt frozen.

Suddenly, the door was being slammed in his face.

That action was the encouragement he needed. His jaw set, and he stepped forward, rapping persistently on the door. "Gracie," he called loudly, continuing to knock, "I flew all the way here, you can't just expect me to go away."

Evidently she was listening. "You did it so well before!"

"This is my one last, desperate attempt, Gracie. Please don't deny me it."

Silence.

After the longest few minutes of his life, the lock clicked. The knob turned, and the door slowly opened. He found himself staring face to the face with her, and it was the first time he was able to really take her in. She was more beautiful than he remembered. Her face was slightly rounder, her cheeks glowed, and her hair was longer, streaked blonde by the South African sun. She took his breath away.

The fact that her eyes were soft, instead of hard and angry, did not go over his head. And while it was not the reason he had come, he had to focus on the most obvious subject first. "You didn't tell me," Carter breathed, unable to take his eyes off of her. Pregnant. She was pregnant. He felt like his mind was exploding.

"No."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Gracie was silent. All she could do was shrug sadly.

"That's... that's..."

"Yours."

He couldn't believe it. He absolutely couldn't fathom what was happening. This beautiful, frustrating, devastating woman was carrying his child. She had run off knowing this. Months of painstakingly slow progress only to come crashing into a brick wall, and here they were. Connected. Forever. His head was a mix of jumbled thoughts, which stumbled on his lips. "This is a sign, Gracie."

"You can't presume that."

"And why not?" Gracie was silent. Carter dove forward with his words, his tone firm. "You can't possibly tell me that this _isn't_ some sort of sign from this godforsaken universe. We were _engaged_, Gracie! We were perfect! We—"

"We had flaws."

"Everybody has flaws!" He paused. It was then he noticed the glittering diamond ring he had given her, still hanging on a chain from her neck nearly two years later. "That ring," Carter pointed. Gracie immediately flushed. "I spend eight fucking months completely devastated over you, and you're halfway around the world, wearing _my_ ring. _My ring._ The one _I_ gave you, that marked you as mine—"

"This is not about possession."

"Isn't it?"

Silence.

Carter's voice grew rough. "Let it go, Gracie. Let it all fucking go, and just be honest with yourself. That is _all_ I have ever asked of you."

"It's not that simple—"

"Yes it is. I need you. I have never needed anyone the way I need you. I will _never_ need anyone else the way I need you."

Her eyes were dark and unreadable, but they shone with tears. He stepped forward, and for the first time in what felt like years, carefully cradled the side of her face. Her skin was like silk. And she didn't pull away. That was the important part.

"Let it go," he murmured.

And for the first time, she actually understood what he meant.

Fear. Fear and anxiety and any damage they had done. He was asking her to throw all her preconceived notions out the window. To be truthful about the fact that she had just spent the past eight months just as equally a wreck. If not more so. He was asking her to be honest, and if she were to be honest with herself, she didn't want to do without him another day in her life. _That_ was honesty.

"You think it's just so easy, don't you?" Gracie finally managed to whisper.

His eyes were sad, his fingers toying against her skin. "I have no doubt that it isn't."

"I can't breathe without you."

And in that moment, neither could he.

"I can't _look_ at anything without it relating to you in some way. I'm not happy. I'm _never_ happy, I—" It became clear to her that this was the final time. Spouting honesty here would only seal her to him for the rest of her life.

She wasn't so sure it mattered anymore. "—I don't know what to do with myself."

"Say you'll marry me." He paused. "And mean it."

When your life changes, you can feel it. It's a very palpable energy in the air, almost humming, that gives you pause. You can sense it. You can smell it. It's the notion that the next time you open your mouth, there was no going back. The point of no return. Gracie realized this here. And then...

"Okay."

Breathless. "What?"

"Okay, I'll marry you." The tears were beginning to trickle down onto her perfect little cheeks. She was conceding. All the fight had left her. Question lilted in her upset tone. "Even though I didn't tell you? Even though—"

He was cradling both sides of her face by then. "None of it matters if I have you."

"Okay," Gracie whispered. She nodded slightly, and before she could even blink, his lips were crushed to hers. They melted against him, and suddenly she wasn't so surprised at how this had transpired. One taste of him and everything made sense. He smelled like home. He felt like home.

There would be plenty of time for talk later.

----


	9. back in the world

**BACK IN THE WORLD  
March 2005**

**Johannesburg, South Africa**

The early hours of the morning brought more substantial changes than simple reconciliation.

She had been sitting in the window, watching the orange glow of street lights cast over passing cars on the main road. Every now and then, her eyes would fall to the hand resting on her swollen belly, catching a glittering glimpse of antique diamonds no longer on a chain, but on a very important finger. It was paired now with a dainty, delicate silver band, and every time Gracie looked at the two together, she was reminded of the small, private ceremony that had taken place at a local government office. Three weeks felt like an eternity.

_ "Do you, Gracie Themba Abrahams, declare that as far as you know, there is no lawful impediment to your proposed marriage to Dr. John Truman Carter, here present, and that you call those here present to witness that you take him as your lawful husband?"_

_ "I do."_

She still felt him taking hold of her right hand.

_ "I declare that Gracie Themba Abrahams and Dr. John Truman Carter, here present, have been lawfully married. Please kiss your bride."_

The taste of him still lingered on her lips.

Their families hadn't understood why they'd chosen to have such a quick, private ceremony — bringing only two of Gracie's co-workers from a local HIV clinic she'd been working at as witnesses. But she and Carter knew. It felt so unnecessary to share such a large part of themselves with everyone. His father had been upset. Dave, while thrilled at what had transpired, still carried sadness over the distance. It was even worse when certain considerations came into play.

She'd taken a week off from her position at the clinic, but not once were they seen leaving her Newtown apartment. It wasn't much of a honeymoon, but it was rich enough to bring a blush to her cheeks every time she recalled it.

A sigh escaped her, her eyes drifting towards the bed they now shared. Carter was fast asleep, the gentle glow from street lamps illuminating his bare skin. He had only been here a month, and already he'd made an impression on these walls. She wondered if it would feel the same after relocating. They'd purchased a home in the Melville neighborhood of Johannesburg, intending to make a new life together. Moving day would come soon, but it wasn't without its concerns.

This was her life now, and she had no regrets. There were just some matters that were so overwhelming, that a lot of times she felt like she was treading water. She was a married woman, she was expecting a child any day now, she was living and working in Africa once more. It was a lot of change in rapid succession. Having Carter nearby took a lot of the burden off her shoulders, but it wasn't nearly enough.

Of course, it wasn't tumultuous thoughts that had her up at this hour of the night. Being so far into her pregnancy, it wasn't unusual for Gracie to be a nightowl, but there was something different here. Her back ached in all the right places.

It was when a fluid gushed out of her that it became very clear just what was happening.

For a moment, Gracie remained frozen. Then —

"John," she hissed.

"Mmm."

"John!"

"Mmm?"

A pillow went flying into his head, and Carter woke in a startle, sufficiently tangling himself in the covers. "What the hell?"

"My water broke."

"What?" It was clear that he was still half asleep, and wasn't quite grasping the gravity of her words. Gracie sighed, resting a hand on the small of her back while the other was used to gently rub circles into her swollen belly.

"My... water... broke."

That seemed to catch his attention. Carter shot up to a sitting position in bed. He rubbed at his bleary eyes. "You serious?" All she could do was nod.

Silence.

"Okay..." Carter trailed off, sounding considerably more awake than before, yet still obviously exhausted. "Okay." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as he climbed out of bed in nothing but a pair of pajama pants. "Are you contracting?"

Gracie took a deep breath. It occurred to her that she might have been contracting the whole time she was lost in thought. There was a pressure in her pelvis, along with the aching in her back. The aching was gradually shifting to the front of her abdomen, and growing more painful. "Yeah."

"How often?"

Guessing was necessary. "Forty-five seconds every seven minutes."

"Okay, we need to get to the hospital," Carter stood, making a beeline for the dresser, pulling open one of the drawers and rifling through the clothes. His tone was the kind she'd heard so many times in the trauma room, one of taking charge. She had expected a little more panic, but then again, so much was different about him. Gracie felt like she was learning him all over again.

"Can't we wait?" Gracie asked softly, a bit petulantly.

"Your membranes have ruptured, we have to go."

"Then can you just... stop for a minute?"

Carter paused, glancing over his shoulder at his wife — the word still so foreign. He ceased his search, turning and stepping closer to her, taking her face into his hands and pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. His lips hovered against her skin even when he released, and his hands moved to cover hers over her belly. There was silence, and when he spoke, his voice was rough from disuse.

"What are you thinking?"

Gracie exhaled a long breath. "I'm just... not used to this."

"This?"

"The change."

Silence. She drew back enough to look him in the eye. "How do we find that happy medium?"

He smoothed his thumb over her cheek and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. "We are right where we're supposed to be," he murmured against her.

"But how do you know? How do _we_ know?"

"Labor makes you way too philosophical," Carter teased gently, studying her with warmth in his eyes. Gracie sighed and nodded.

They dressed, gathered necessities and made phone calls, and it wasn't long before they found themselves being admitted to the Charlotte Maxeke Johannesburg Hospital, Carter being permitted his first glimpse at the workings of a South African teaching hospital. The likeness of County.

By the time they were taken up to the obstetrics unit, Gracie seemed ready to murder Carter. She gasped for breath through contractions, remaining rigid and stiff until it subsided. One of the nurses dared to ask her how the pain was, and Gracie snapped right back, "How do you _think_ the pain is?"

"She needs an epidural," Carter pointed out calmly, although he seemed strained. He was handling the situation well, despite how stressful it was.

"We are working on it," the nurse replied in her thick African accent, "it should be soon."

"She might not have time to wait!"

"Miss Gracie is five centimeters, doctor, she—"

"Five centimeters an _hour_ ago, maybe you should check again."

The nurse pursed her lips, her jaw set. "I'll be back," she said. Then she disappeared. Carter seethed quietly.

It was silent as Gracie adjusted herself in her hospital bed, laying on her side and gripping the rails. "I take it all back," she groaned, and Carter turned to observe her. "My life. Everything. Just kill me now."

"Wimp," Carter simpered, quickly soothing himself and perching on the edge of her bed, gently massaging circles into the small of her back.

"I'd say the same thing if you weren't here."

"That still makes you a wimp."

"I don't care. Just get him out. You can do it."

Carter's eyes softened for a moment. Him. They were having a boy. He had spent the past month talking to a rounded belly, feeling the gentle kicks, but none of it had been able to really make this seem real. A son. He was going to be a father. They were going to be parents. Everything that had transpired felt surreal.

"I'm not going to do that."

"You could check. You know how." Gracie buried her face into the mattress, her grip on the bed rails tightening as the monitor announced a slow descent into another contraction. "It feels like he's between my knees."

"That's the idea. I'm still not going to do it."

"John..." Gracie groaned, but it lacked intention. She said nothing more. He watched her carefully, continuing his gentle massage, but it occurred to him that something was off. She wasn't just contracting anymore.

"Are you bearing down?"

She didn't respond. Carter stood quickly, watching as she shivered lightly, as her knuckles turned white. Everything about this moment reminded him of the transition stage of labor. He went to snap on a pair of latex gloves, caving and reaching gently beneath the sheets. "Breathe, baby," he reminded her. Gracie grunted in response as his fingers tucked into her and his brows nearly shot off his forehead. She was almost nine centimeters. "Don't push. You hear me?"

He stepped back, snapping off the gloves and tossing them into a nearby trash can. "You're almost done dilating, they can't give you an epidural." Gracie moaned in response. The sound only drove him to pause in the doorway and holler for the doctor.

"I can't do it," Gracie gasped. Carter's eyes shifted to the monitor; she was slowly coming off her contraction. He shifted to her side.

"Yes you can," he soothed, gently pressing his thumbs into her lower back.

"No, I can't."

"You're going to do this, Africa, you hear me? It's almost over. I promise."

The nurse returned with the doctor in tow. And suddenly, everything grew frenzied. Two more nurses and a tech entered the room. The lights suddenly grew much brighter. Gracie was urged into a position optimal for delivery, and all she was offered was a booster of pain medication. Carter found himself sitting just behind her, arms drawn underneath hers so he could hold her shoulders, Gracie leaning into his chest for support. And suddenly she was pushing, and even Carter felt breathless.

And then... the cry.

And the whole world stopped for the tiny little boy that emerged from his mother's womb. Joshua Makalo Carter looked just like his father, with his mother's eyes and honeyed hair. Nine pounds, twenty-one inches long, and a wail that drove even Carter to tears. Everything was different now. That much was apparent as Gracie accepted a bundled Joshua into her arms, her face wet with tears, and Carter peered over her shoulder into his eyes. The little newborn calmed in the presence of his parents, as Gracie offered him a finger to suck on.

Carter pressed a lingering kiss to Gracie's temple. Nothing was more important than this moment. Not the realization that, if he was to remain in this country with his family — the word still so foreign — he needed to return to the States to tie up affairs. Nothing. Here was the change.

He would reflect, later, on the metamorphosis. The years that led up to this moment of alteration. Had the suffering been worth it?

He was inclined to say yes.

----


	10. refusal of care

**REFUSAL OF CARE  
April 2005**

**Chicago, Illinois**

There was an odd sort of tension in the conference room as Carter turned and poured coffee from the carafe. But maybe that feeling was entirely his fault. It was different, wielding all the power. To sit and have people on baited breath as they hope for your money. He was still trying to get used to it.

"So, John, if you're okay, we're ready to go to the contractors for bid."

The developer that had joined he and Kerry for the meeting leaned over the table and suggested, "I'm thinking... a hundred-fifty million is in the ballpark?"

Carter tipped his head up to the ceiling and smirked slightly, grateful his features weren't visible in this position. "That's a nice ballpark."

"A leadership gift from the Carter Foundation would help to get the ball rolling," Kerry explained as he joined them at the large oval table once more. "And we've drawn up a list of potential corporate donors... we were _hoping_ that you could make some calls on the hospital's behalf."

It didn't take long for Carter to respond. He toyed absently with the silver band on his left hand, an action that didn't go unnoticed by Weaver. It was an odd, sort of overwhelming feeling — this man before them was confident, sure of himself and his capabilities, and oozed contentedness. Gracie was noticeably absent for this trip back to the old stomping grounds. "No thanks."

Kerry paused. "Your personal involvement would be very useful in contacting the—"

"We weren't happy with the idea of corporate sponsorship," Carter interrupted. The developer's shoulders sank slightly, as Kerry paused and tried to figure out another approach. Carter was a busy man lately; this meeting was just one in a million other things he had lined up during his visit to Chicago.

A pause. "So," Carter continued, "we would be interested in covering the construction costs."

Weaver looked dumbfounded. "The entire thing?"

Carter nodded. "Plus an endowment, to supply the center's annual budget to treat uninsured patients."

Amazed laughs. "This is an incredibly generous offer," the developer remarked. Carter merely raised his brows and lifted his cup of coffee to his lips, all too amazed himself at the ease with which he spoke. He had never believed he could hold this sort of power, not even after Gamma's constant hounding for him to do so. To be able to do it now and so well was a testament to the change he'd been through. To how different his life had become.

"We would appreciate a naming opportunity."

"Of course," the developer nodded, "do you have some suggestions?"

A pause. "I do, actually. But I would like to discuss it further with a few family members first."

The meeting ended on a positive note, with agreement to meet later in the week. Carter left the conference room looking almost relieved, Kerry hot on his heels as he absently loosened his tie. "I don't know what to say, John."

"Well, I've been looking for some time for the right thing to donate to," Carter shrugged as they walked together down the hall. "Seemed only fitting."

"Have you thought about any future role in the outpatient center?"

"Yeah," Carter took his stethoscope out of his pocket and looped it around his neck. "I'd like to sit on the board. And... I suppose I might see a few patients."

"But... you'd agree it'd be better to recruit someone with more experience as director?"

"Definitely."

Now Kerry looked relieved. Carter laughed as they waited for an elevator. "I don't want to run the place, Kerry. Too much paperwork."

"Good. I've identified four outstanding candidates." She handed him the stack of manila folders she had been carrying as they stepped into an open car.

"Well, I'd be happy to look over their CV's. But I've actually been talking to Todd Becker." The elevator doors closed, and their eyes met.

"Todd Becker from Stanford?"

"Well, he's at Columbia now. He set up a network of clinics in Harlem and South Bronx... he'd be perfect."

Silence. "Why are you doing this?"

Puzzlement. "Well... he'd be a great director."

"No," Kerry replied, "I mean the whole thing. The center, the hundred-fifty million... what's going on?"

She followed him as the elevator opened into the ER. Carter shrugged. "City needs it. There's no prevention, there's no primary care. The whole system's broken."

"Well, that's not new. Why now?"

Carter came to a pause outside of admit, facing the woman who had been more than a mentor and a boss, but a friend. His tone dropped. "Because for eleven years I've been here, patching up these people who fall through the cracks... and it hasn't been enough. I want to do more."

Her eyes returned to the ring on his finger. "How's Gracie?"

The change of subject seemed welcome. A smile graced his lips and he glanced toward a busy admit, including Pratt and Barnett with a patient coming down the hall. "She's... great. The baby's great. They're both..."

"Great?" Kerry suggested. Carter laughed and nodded. Sometimes, there were no appropriate words. "It would have been nice for her to come along, instead of you just bringing us pictures."

Carter recalled his first shift back in the ER since arriving, when he had brought a plethora of pictures for the nurses to paw through — Chuny wouldn't have it any other way. Everyone agreed Joshua was precious. "Yeah," Carter sighed, a sharp pang of loneliness in his gut. He missed them already. "But Josh is too young to fly yet, we didn't want to risk it."

"Dr. Carter," Pratt called down the hall as they pushed the gurney past them towards the trauma rooms. "T2 trauma."

"MVC?"

"Fell down a flight of stairs."

"Chest and hip pain," Barnett added.

"Good vitals," their med student, Jake Scanlon, chimed in.

"'Kay, why don't you guys get started, I'll be right there."

The team disappeared, leaving Carter and Kerry in the hall once more. But Carter was already beginning to look distracted, ready to walk away, as if another agenda was on his mind. "So, you'll send me that file?" Weaver prodded.

"What's that?"

"The guy from Columbia."

"Todd Becker. You're gonna love him Kerry, I promise."

The question wasn't actually answered, but it was all Carter could offer before he walked away. There was a phone in the lounge that was of necessity.

And yet he never actually got to use it. The ER was full of constant distractions, and it wasn't until he arrived home at the townhouse that felt so empty without his family that he was able to find purchase. He listened to messages on the answering machine in the kitchen as he prepared to slice up an apple.

The first was the developer.

The second was a telemarketer.

The third was Gracie.

_"Hey you,"_ came her familiar voice from the tiny machine, and he couldn't help but turn and look, as if he expected to find her standing there. _"'Bout six in the morning here. Just wanted to see how it's going. I'm up with Joshy—"_ That made sense. She had yet to return from maternity leave to her job at the clinic in Johannesburg. _"—but we're meeting a friend of mine for breakfast soon. Love you."_

She never forgot to say it anymore.

Carter paused, tossing the apple and paring knife down on the counter as he picked up the cordless. The messages from the machine ended as he dialed and wandered aimlessly, waiting for her to pick up.

_"Hello?"_

It felt like he was home again, just hearing her voice.

"Hey," Carter replied quickly. "Hi. I wasn't sure I was going to catch you guys."

A soft laugh came from her end, and it mixed with the amount of noise coming from the background. It sounded like Josh was fussing. _"Yeah, we're running late,"_ Gracie said, and it sounded like she was juggling the phone between her ear and her shoulder. _"Someone here needs to eat, and then we'll be off."_

So she was settling down for breastfeeding. The amount of noise made more sense, the way it sounded like his wife was juggling babies and phones, easing into a chair. The way Joshua's cries suddenly eased. _"What are you up to?"_

Carter eased himself into a chair at the counter. "Well, I just got home from work." The time difference felt disorienting. They belonged in the same zone.

_"How was it?"_

"It was good. I looked at the plans today."

Pauses came more easily between his words, as if he was trying to figure out just how best to express a thought on his mind. Gracie knew all about the plans. It was all he had been talking about in the days leading up to his flight out of Johannesburg. _"Did you now? No more of those fast food monstrosities, I hope."_

He ignored her. "And I've been thinking about a name for the building."

Silence. _"Oh?"_

Carter toyed with the apple he had set down. "Well, how would you feel about the... Joshua Carter Center?"

Even more silence. _"After the baby?"_

"Yeah, after the baby."

Gracie sounded choked up by the time she found the ability to reply. The silence had been easy — quietude was comfortable with them — but Carter felt much more soothed when he heard her voice, even if it was overwhelmed with emotion. _"I think that's lovely, John,"_ she remarked softly.

"Yeah?"

_"Yeah."_

"Miss you."

A soft breath came across the line. _"I miss you, too,"_ Gracie breathed, and he could hear a soft baby sigh as Josh nursed, and suddenly the ache in him was overwhelming. He wasn't sure why he had ever thought coming back to Chicago was a good idea, tying up loose ends be damned.

"Everyone won't stop talking about you. They want you to hop on webcam and say hello."

She chuckled, and the moment was saving from overwhelming loneliness. _"I don't know if I really need to see County again, even if it is from a computer screen."_

He scoffed jokingly. "You'll come crawling back."

_"Have you seen Dave, yet?"_

Carter shook his head before stupidly realizing he couldn't be seen. "I'm meeting him for lunch tomorrow. He'd rather see you, though."

A pause. _"Maybe for Christmas."_

"Yeah?"

_"Yeah. I told you, there's no such thing as a white Christmas here."_

"Doesn't matter where we are. As long as I have you and Josh."

Silence. _"I should go, love."_

He sighed. "Alright. Call you when I get up?"

_"Of course."_

"I love you."

_"Ek is lief vir jou,"_ Gracie breathed, and there were no sweeter words from her lips. There was a pause before they hung up the phone.

A month couldn't be so bad, could it?

----


	11. the show must go on

**THE SHOW MUST GO ON  
May 2005**

**Johannesburg, South Africa**

Malucci had dropped him off at the airport, an eight year old Joey in the backseat. With his chin resting on the seat back, his body angled forward, the boy had asked rather plaintively, _"Uncle Carter, why can't you guys just stay here?"_

He didn't have an answer for the kid. Answers were in short supply these days. There was no real understanding of why things were the way that they were — just that instinct was running the show. The chapter of their lives that involved blustery Chicago winds had ended. At least for the moment.

How could anyone understand the change?

He'd bade farewell to both of them, packing away a picture Joey had drawn for Gracie, colorful scribbles that would certainly find their way straight into a showcase on the front of the fridge. Joey had beamed at the thought.

It was the longest flight of his life, mere hours after a rather odd ending to a surprise farewell party, not to mention his last patient at County — a young African-American girl who needed bones re-aligned, a girl he happened to help deliver ten years ago. Odd, but rather fitting. It provided closure.

Not that he was ever certain he wanted to close the book.

A light rain fell over the streets of Johannesburg as he landed at Tambo International Airport. It cast a slight glare in the glow of street lamps, and dampened his hair as he stepped out of a cab in front of their Melville home. Home. _Their_ home. It felt final as he stood in front of it, surveying the split level frame, charming and secluded, the warm yellow-beige paint offset by lush greenery.

He still couldn't talk her into changing that paint job.

"Are you coming inside?"

He'd been staring off into space for a while, although he couldn't be certain of how long. Long enough for Gracie to take notice and poke her head outside. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, to center on her standing just inside the front door, eyes warm, skin aglow. The simple sight of her was enough to ground him. She was his reason why. There was something about this home that gave them an opportunity for a fresh start, to love deeply, to bolster their family.

His feet couldn't move fast enough. He rushed up the front walk, skipped the steps and took her immediately into his arms. She was chuckling, and he was holding her tightly, deeply inhaling her scent. A month had been too long.

And they wouldn't have to experience it again.

"Good flight?" Her voice was muffled against his chest. There was a pause before she drew back, and he kissed both of her eyelids, catching her chin between thumb and forefinger and eliciting a sweet kiss.

"The worst."

Kiss.

"Well, you're home now."

Kiss.

"Come inside."

Kiss.

"You first."

Kiss.

"I'll stay out here all night if I have to, I don't care."

Gracie took a step backwards, luggage forgotten on the front steps as they were seduced indoors by lingering kisses, bluster be damned. Backed up to the armrest of a couch, he towered over her as the backs of her thighs met furniture, fingers tangled in the strands of hair just beyond her ears.

"Josh asleep?"

Kiss.

"He'll be up for a feeding soon."

Kiss.

"Can I do it?"

Kiss.

"I suppose a man with early tenure can do anything."

He broke their neverending kiss, eyes warm and lips curved sheepishly. "Susan told you, huh?"

"Of course." Gracie paused. No matter how much she tried to distance herself from County, she still spoke frequently with Susan Lewis. "I don't quite understand the necessity, though — if they wanted to keep you around, they still had you for the Center."

"Yeah, I wasn't keen on accepting it either."

She stood, forcing himself to shift and step back, eyes lit with affection. "Well. At least I know why they'd want to keep those ties with you." She smoothed her hands down his arms, leaning up on tiptoes and placing a demure kiss on his lips, before stepping away from his embrace. "Glad you're home."

Dragging in forgotten luggage, warming up bottles and answering a two month old's hungry cries never seemed so natural.

----


	12. blame it on the rain

_"I don't want to be the first to let it go. But I know, if you have the last hands that I want to hold, then I've got to let them go."  
— __'Maybe', Ingrid Michaelson_

**BLAME IT ON THE RAIN  
October 2005**

**Johannesburg, South Africa**

Early summer had brought with it a steady plateau of pleasantly warm, dry days. It seemed only fitting that today, a light shower fell over the city. The air remained moist, hinting of thunder, but Gracie paid no mind as she stood outside, face tilted to the sky, sprinkling rain dampening her hair and features. Arms wrapped around her, traffic passing in its normal volume on the street, it was everything she could do not to hunt for a smoke. The temptation was high; the patients that came and went from the HIV clinic she and Carter were working at could occasionally be found on the front stoop, bumming off a cigarette. But Josh, now seven months old, was still taking supplements of breast milk. The temptation had to be ignored.

Still, she stood out in the sprinkling rain. It was all she could think to do.

It felt a lot like deja vu.

"Gracie?"

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she tried to reconcile the soothing sprinkle of raindrops on her face with the sound of his voice. It felt impossible.

His footsteps grew closer. "Baby," he breathed, and she could hear despite his distance, despite the rain falling, despite everything. She bit her bottom lip so hard that she felt the metallic taste of blood on her tongue.

"I just... help me understand," Gracie managed, and she turned to look at him, _really_ look at him for the first time since the night before. Since this new revelation had rocked her world. He looked shaken, like a little boy lost. "I thought we were past this."

"I thought you'd get it. I thought you'd see."

Something about this assumption made words spit from her lips. "See _what_, John? How can you just expect me to understand? _Darfur?_ You want to go to Darfur? Oh, right, that's _perfectly_ safe, there's no _chance_ of you getting hurt there—"

"I wanted you to come, too."

Her tone rose. "And you want me to bring our _child_ there?"

"You're going to get sick standing out here, why don't you come inside?"

Gracie shook her head, taking a step back. "No. No, we're going to talk about this here. Right now. You need to explain to me why this is so serious."

Silence. He pointed in a needless direction, his tone quiet but firm. "For... _years_, I watched the shitstorm that was County. For years, I lived a privileged life; I went to fucking _medical_ school, I have all these resources at my disposal. How do I _not_ use them, Gracie? I have the capability to help others, why _shouldn't_ I make use of it?"

"You're helping other people _here_."

"But I'm _needed_ elsewhere."

She looked at him sadly. "And _I_ need you here. _I_ need you safe."

He seemed speechless.

When there seemed to be nothing more to say, Gracie found the words. Hands deep in her damp pockets, she asked, "I can't convince you to do otherwise, can I?"

Silence.

"We're parents now, John," she pointed out quietly. "If there's one thing out of all the others that you should focus on, it's that fact. You want to go off and be a doctor without borders or whatever, fine. But remember what you're risking."

"That's not fair, Gracie. Don't use him against me."

She shook her head, wrapped her arms around herself once more, and made her way inside, leaving Carter behind under the downpour. She was done talking about this, and he knew that, no matter what protests he gave. He was left to stand with his shoulders sinking, head shaking, a disbelieving chuckle that bordered on a cry.

It was their secret hope — one, praying that letting go would bring peace, and the other, understanding.


	13. darfur

**DARFUR  
March 2006**

**Darfur, Sudan**

"So, how long is your wife in Johannesburg?"

Dakarai already knew the story, though. He could tell before Carter even said anything. This was the life that hot, sandy winds introduced.

"I don't know."

Thinking of Gracie was painful. Mostly because of the fact that while he was here, trying to understand hundreds, maybe even thousands, Arabic-speaking internally displaced persons — she and Joshua were back in Johannesburg. In modern civilization. Surrounded by well-kept vehicles, grocery stores, television. He tried to imagine what she was doing at that exact moment. He briefly came to the conclusion that she was working at the HIV clinic, before remembering that she had put in to have their son's birthday off.

His eyes softened at the thought. Joshua was a year old today.

"So how long are you with us?"

"How long do you need me?"

That was the instinctive answer. He would stay as long as his services were needed, but talking about it always brought to mind the last conversation before he left. The fact that she had opted to stay behind. He wished desperately that she were here, that she could see what he was seeing, despite a part of him understanding why she was not. He could appreciate it. She was keeping their child out of harm's way. She was keeping herself out of harm's way.

He couldn't really reconcile that with her desire for him to keep _himself_ safe.

"It's hard, eh? Keeping relationships going, doing what we do."

What they do.

Later that day, when he found himself chasing after a husband who had decided to find the Janjaweed who had raped his wife, he would think of this. Dakarai would want to turn back, but he would want to press forward, despite everything, despite the danger. He would think of it when a gun was held to his head. He would think of it while clutching the top of a dune, witnessing the Janjaweed beating up the husband. And laughing.

Mostly, he would think of it when the Janjaweed shoot the husband before riding away on horseback. While he and Dakarai rush down to help a pulseless man. And while loading his blood-splattered, lifeless body into the back of their dusty truck. It would come to a climax back at the camp, where he watched a mother and her children cry over this man as the sun began to set.

It felt oddly paralleled to his own life.

* * *

**Johannesburg, South Africa**

She would receive a letter some weeks later.

The envelope was wrinkled, having jumped through hoops to get to its final destination — first driven out to the capitol, Khartoum, then air-mailed to South Africa. Carried right to her doorstep. Summer was ending, and she sat on the steps leading out into the backyard to soak up the last of the sunshine. Joshua toddled precariously just inches away, tiny bare toes crunching through green grass, a machine gun-esque peal of laughter escaping his lips. She had no idea what was so amusing to her young son, but that was the beauty of it — seeing the world again, through his eyes. Everything was entertainment nowadays.

Gracie opened the envelope, smiling with sparkling eyes at little Joshua, her attention sufficiently divided. Joshua had just started learning to walk on his own, and was still unsteady on his feet. He fell frequently, but that never seemed to be enough to stop him from going about his business. It was in a brief second that she had assured herself enough to look away, down at the folded paper she had pulled out of the envelope. The paper, too, was dusty, and before Gracie even unfolded it, she smelled it.

A vague desert odor. Or was that her imagination?

Three words were scrawled inside, in Carter's familiar writing:

_I understand now._

Nothing more, nothing less. They were enough to make her feel breathless, even just a little bit, and she couldn't help but wonder just what had happened to bring about this change in thought. He understood. That meant a lot of things.

She had never missed him so terribly than she did in that moment.


	14. epilogue

It took a long time, but here's the ending for you all to enjoy. Thank you for all the reviews and kind words I've received since the beginning of this series.

* * *

**WHAT WE DO  
****March 2009**

**Chicago, IL**

"I reached a point about five years ago where I started to feel that every day was the same thing. And I'd had enough. But I've been through a lot of stuff since then… and now, I try to embrace the idea that everything that happens has never happened before. Like… that saying that you can't stand in the same river twice? Because by the time that you come back, it's not the same river. You're not the same man. Anyway…" He shakes his head. "I look around this place now and I can't imagine ever finding it boring. Because right at the moment that you think you've seen it all, something happens that you never could've expected."

A monitor wails, a warning of vitals dropping dangerously.

Without a word, Carter reaches back and silences the device that supervised his ailing health. He then looks back at the camera, the slightest of laughs.

Dark humor melts into a troubled expression.

**OLD TIMES  
****March 2009**

**Johannesburg, SA**

Three fucking years.

Gracie had discovered a lot since then.

Five months after his desert-scented letter, Gracie found herself moving to Sudan with little Joshua in tow. The hot and dusty streets of Khartoum were the first thing she learned. Such streets, according to Carter, apparently required the presence of a tall, muscular Ethiopian bodyguard named Desta at all times. Carter had insisted on that safety net, seeing as he remained at the IDP camp in Darfur. Carter only ventured to Khartoum on the weekends, while keeping in touch via webcam the rest of the week. It hadn't been the most ideal situation, but Carter had refused to have his wife and son in Darfur, and Khartoum was close enough that some semblance of a family life could be maintained.

Unrelenting heat and the strict laws of a conservative Islamic society could be coped with, but everything else was a learning experience. Gracie accepted work in the capitol as a nurse practitioner, and forged a tenuous grasp on the Arabic language. Little Joshua learned to talk, and would crow with happiness whenever he saw his father, digitally or in the flesh, _"Baba!"_

Everything became easy. Friends were made, normalcy was established. Until one terrifying day when a satellite phone call was received from the camp — Carter had fallen ill, and was air-lifted to a hospital in Nairobi.

A parasitic disease had taken hold of his sole remaining kidney. Josh, nearly three, had curled up in his father's hospital bed and asked repeatedly why Daddy couldn't make himself better. He was a big, strong doctor — a hero in his eyes. Daddy could make ihis/i owwies and sickies go away, why couldn't he do the same for himself?

There was never any answer.

Gracie believed the worst had passed when Carter was finally cleared to leave the hospital. They flew back to Khartoum, where Carter remained permanently. He worked at a camp close by, and was home every night. Those were the happiest months of Gracie's life. Eight months later, the decision was made to say goodbye to Khartoum and go home to Johannesburg. Carter and Gracie opened their own low-cost HIV clinic, an absolute dream. It wasn't the Center they dreamt of for Chicago, but it was a start. A warm up for the real deal. Joshua started pre-school, and Carter's health began to go downhill.

It was glaringly obvious by the New Year that his kidney was failing, due to complications from what he'd picked up in Darfur. And that was when Gracie lost it. Her husband needed a donor kidney. He needed dialysis to survive until he could _get_ such a transplant. He'd need to go back to the States to better his chances. He would, once again, have to leave her — and was teetering constantly on the edge of doing so permanently.

Carter was nonchalant about it all. He thought that if he kept going like nothing monumental was happening, everything would be fine. Gracie, on the other hand, worried constantly. She was borderline frantic from the second they received the diagnosis to the moment she saw Carter off on an airplane bound for Chicago. She had loose ends to tie up in Johannesburg before she and Joshua could join him. A new supervisor needed to be appointed at the clinic, things needed to be packed and someone needed to look after the house. It was busy work that only vaguely distracted herself from her worry.

Carter picked up a couple shifts in the ER at County while he waited, something that would have amused Gracie if it weren't for the fact that she thought it was so incredibly stupid. She didn't hesitate to tell him how right she was when he collapsed and was told he needed to be admitted to the hospital permanently until a kidney was found. At least he was shot up the donor list.

Gracie had wanted to be there for the surgery. But the kidney came too quickly, and she received a call from Malucci the day before she and Josh were set to board a plane, announcing as such. Her night was sleepless, first knowing that a life-saving organ was in transit, and then knowing that her husband was under the knife — and she wasn't there to see him through it. It was traumatic.

The phone rang at about four in the morning, roughly thirty minutes before she actually needed to get up and get everything ready for the airport.

Her answer was immediate. "Hello?"

_"Hi."_

It was Carter. He sounded weak and weary, and like he was about to cry, and Gracie wondered if he was calling from recovery. _"Did I wake you?"_

"No, love," Gracie sat up in bed immediately. She ached, just hearing his voice. She wanted to be there. "I couldn't sleep, I was so worried. What happened?"

It was quiet on the other end of the line for one long moment.

And then, he simply said,

_"I have some really good news."_

**SHIFTING EQUILIBRIUM  
****March 2009**

**Chicago, IL**

Gracie disembarked at O'Hare, a four-year-old Joshua asleep on her hip, with only one goal in mind. To get to Northwestern. Dropping off luggage was irrelevant. Seeing anyone else was irrelevant. Malucci picked the two of them up at the airport with an eleven year old Joey in the backseat, promising to drop their things off at the townhouse so she could see her husband unencumbered. The fact that Joey had grown well over a foot since she'd last seen him was the only thing that briefly distracted her from the ultimate objective.

Her little one woke as they were pulling up outside the main entrance. It was raining, and all Gracie could think about was calculating the fastest route to the doors — one that avoided the mild flooding that seemed to be taking place along the curb. "Are we in Cha-cago, Mummy?" Joshua asked sleepily.

"Yes, love. Get your pack-pack, we're going to see Daddy."

"But what about JoeJoe and Uncle Dave?"

Malucci peered into the backseat through the rearview. "We'll see you later, champ. Joey and I are bringing pizza for dinner."

Josh seemed to brighten after that. He collected his little Elmo backpack and tugged up the hood on his jacket after his mother's prodding. Gracie kissed Joey and Malucci goodbye before hopping out into the torrential downpour and grabbing Joshua's hand as he followed. "Run, Joshy! Run!"

The dash to the front doors was so exciting, Joshua didn't seem keen for it to end. The rest of their venture through the hospital was spent in a half-run, half-jog, simply because Joshua wanted to. He was all grins when they came to the door of Carter's private hospital room.

"Daddy!" Josh crowed excitedly, making an immediate dash for the bed, while Gracie was left to hover in the doorway, tears brimming in her eyes.

Two different visions played out in front of her; one in the present and one of the past. In both, he was propped up in bed, in a hospital gown and pajama pants, a robe to keep him warm. In the past, he was tired and weak. In the present, he looked as if he had more energy than ever — his eyes were lit up, and he was reaching to tug Joshua up into bed with him, all smiles.

"You're all wet," Carter laughed.

"It's raining!" Josh announced, as if he couldn't hear the pitter-patter on the windowsill. Their little one then inhaled a deep breath, always a signal that a longwinded story was about to begin. "Daddy, I got to see the pilots in the pit!"

"The pit?"

"I can't say the first part."

"Oh."

"They gave me wings!" Joshua pointed proudly to the pin on his jacket. "And-and-and, I had st—stru—"

"Strudel."

"Yeah. In Germany, while they were putting in gas to make the plane-plane run. Mummy couldn't have any, 'cause there was too much carbo—carba—"

"Carbohydrates."

"Yeah!"

Carter peered wryly up at his wife. "Sounds like you've had an exciting day."

But Gracie was too busy remembering the past, and the difference between then and now. Both instances had her fearing loss. Both instances were intricately linked. One led to the other, and it was difficult to come to terms with the idea that it might be over. That they might finally be okay.

"Are you all better now, Daddy?"

"I'll be better when Mummy comes over here."

"Mummy!" Joshua looked impatient. He waved his little hand almost incredulously, as if he couldn't believe that she was still standing there. "Sit!"

All of a sudden, Gracie thawed. She offered a wistful smile, and couldn't hide the two tears making their descent down her cheeks. She crossed the room in three large bounds, easing onto the edge of the bed, just in time for Carter to wrap her up in his arms. He held her tightly, as if letting go might mean tragedy.

"Yayyyyy!" Joshua clapped and cheered. "All better!"

"All better," Carter echoed, pressing a firm and lingering kiss to the top of Gracie's head.

She wasn't inclined to let go of him any time soon.

**AND IN THE END…  
****April 2009**

**Chicago, IL**

"I know a lot of us never actually thought that this day would come…"

Gracie sure thought so. She never once imagined she'd be standing in the lobby of the Joshua Carter Center, in an expensive black dress, Joshua on her hip in a little suit that had everyone fawning over him. Nevermind standing by Carter's side at the podium, while he made a speech to Chicago's elite — partygoers, fundraisers, media. People interested in this project they'd embarked upon. People who wanted to help. It was a great success.

But Carter was right on the money when it came to disbelief. "…In fact, I think I was one of them," he added, waving his hand almost sheepishly and earning a titter of chuckles from the room.

"But here we are!" A glance to his side provided a smiling Gracie, and Josh focused on a lollipop. "In this beautiful facility, finally ready to provide state of the art outpatient services to the HIV/AIDS community, the homeless, families in need. Medical care, dental care, daycare… counseling… services. Services that have been sorely lacking at County for many years."

A pause. "I don't want to try your patience by rambling on too long… but I hope you'll bear with me for a moment while I talk about why we chose to name this the Joshua Carter Center. My wife and I had a son, and we named him Joshua."

"That's me!" Josh piped up suddenly. The room roared with laughter, and Gracie had to speak quietly in her son's ear to ensure it wouldn't happen again.

"Yeah, buddy, that's you," Carter had to quiet his own chuckles before continuing with his speech. "And to us, Joshua became a catalyst… of hope, of change. He was _our_ beacon, and drew the two of us together in a way that so many others never experience. We realized along the way that we could make a difference in other people's lives. Other people needing their own… beacon of hope."

Gracie wanted to cry. His thoughts were ones that, while never quite acknowledged, stung her as he spoke. Because it was so true. Their son had changed everything. She never wanted to wonder what it would be like if he hadn't.

"Thank you so much for coming."

The room erupted with applause, and just like that, it was over.

Of course, it wasn't _really_ over. Benton, Weaver and Lewis, all of whom had attended the soirée, wanted to head out for a nightcap. After mention of Elizabeth Corday and Rachel Greene joining them, Gracie finally agreed and left Joshua with Malucci for the rest of the evening. Catching up was great, but no amount of pleading could get her to stay up once one a.m. rolled around. Carter traipsed off to County with Rachel and Susan in tow, while Gracie headed home.

And promptly fell asleep.

She woke up four hours later, completely groggy but understanding of one thing: Carter hadn't come home. With Dave still passed out on their couch, there was only one apparent option — leave a note and go out looking for her husband.

It was shortly after five-thirty and still dark when Gracie arrived at County. It was the only place that made sense, and with the wild glow of ambulance lights and people running around, Gracie could actually see why.

"Africa!" Jerry crowed as she pushed her way inside. "Long time!"

"I know," Gracie smiled. She gave her old friend a hug, but her eyes kept dancing about the ER, as if there were other things on her mind. "I've come to collect my husband. What happened?"

"Industrial explosion. Trauma one."

"Thank you," Gracie sang, quick to pull away and hurry down the hall. She was pretty sure she could walk it in her sleep. She turned and pointed at Jerry as she went. "We'll catch up later, yeah?"

"You got it."

If Gracie said she was surprised by finding Carter hard at work over a patient, Morris by his side, she would be lying. She wasn't. It was just his nature. Nothing could get in the way of her husband helping someone, not even uncertain privileges at County. For a moment, she stood in the doorway of the trauma room, watching the hustle and bustle around her, simply reminiscing.

She'd lost count of how many times she had been in here. How many lives had been saved, or lost. How much blood spilled, tears witnessed. It was her life at one time. It was Oupa she saw on the gurney, struggling to breathe, and a vision of herself ten years younger, stroking his hair and reciting the Lord's Prayer in Afrikaans. The adrenaline seemed to always linger in this room, a potent, invisible air. For a moment, she almost reflexively jumped into the fray.

Yes, she could understand why Carter had leapt to assist.

"John," Gracie cleared her throat, having to say his name several times before he noted her presence. His eyes were wild and excited. Adrenaline.

"Babe, I'm sorry, I got caught up—"

He never stopped his hands. Diligent, meticulous work in an effort to save the life of a burn victim. From where she stood, even with all the help, their patient's chances didn't look good. There were severe burns over ninety percent of his body.

"Gracie!" Morris exclaimed over the noise and hubbub of the room. A brief smile found her; she remembered Morris well. "Where's the bambino?"

"With my brother. Asleep. Like my husband should be."

"Carter, go say goodnight to your wife, I've got this."

"Goodnight?" Gracie echoed. "It's almost six a.m.!"

With that said, Carter was stripping off his gown and gloves, hurrying to get out of the way and step out into the hall with Gracie. His expression was apologetic, but Gracie knew better. She was quick to speak, in hushed tones.

"John, what are you doing?"

"You _know_ what it's like here, that ER vortex just comes and sweeps you up—"

"You just had major, life threatening surgery! And you're running around all hours of the night, playing doctor!"

"I think we should move back."

Gracie blanched. "_What?_"

"Stay in Chicago. Stay _here_."

This was different. This was that certain, overly confident man who nudged his way back into her life four years ago. Who'd always had a hold on her, and never really left. Maybe the circumstance made it seem like a rash decision, but Carter looked like he'd never been more certain about anything in his life.

His voice and expression softened. "This is _home_, Gracie."

What had happened to the man who'd left County out of dissatisfaction? It seemed like nothing could have gotten him to stay back then. Gracie couldn't wrap her mind around it. Suddenly, he was getting satisfaction out of the cases in an urban ER. Suddenly, he was feeling like he was making a difference.

And Gracie realized in that moment that she wanted this too.

She wanted a normal, quiet life. In Chicago, with her family. She wanted to be near her brother and watch little Joey grow up. She wanted to share a bed with her husband every night and have the best education and medical care available for their son. She wanted to fill that void that had always been around since she'd left.

And the answer was so easy. "Okay," she whispered.

No more, no less. Just _okay_, the word flowing effortlessly from her lips, but never feeling more right. This was home.

And they were coming back.

**THE END!**


End file.
